The Clergyman's Daughter (8 page)

Despite the adversities of the year she had dwelt in Brighton with her mistress, the anonymity of their position had given Willa time to forget some of the horrors of the past and mend her shattered self-esteem. She had been able to pretend that she had never been anything but an ordinary domestic, lowly but industrious and virtuous. The return to Renard Chase, where everyone from the earl himself down to the meanest scullery maid knew her history, put an end to that happy obscurity, and only Willa’s deep love and profound obligation to Jessica had induced her to come with them. When Jessica, sensing Willa’s reluctance, had offered her independence by sharing her small savings with her, Willa had refused, saying with a bleak smile, “No, Miss Jess. How can I leave you and the little one alone in that great house when you don’t even know enough to keep your feet warm and dry…?”

“Come, Willa,” Jessica said quietly, when she saw the maid hesitate. “It’s time for Lottie to meet her aunt Claire.”

“ ‘Aunt Claire,’ ” Claire echoed with pleasure as Jessica took her sleeping daughter into her arms and gently pulled back the blanket from her face. “I like the sound of that.” She glanced impishly at her brother, her brown velvet eyes outlining his powerful body. “I think I shall enjoy hearing you called Uncle. It will make a welcome change from all this ‘my lord’-ing. Will you mind very much? Somehow ‘Uncle Graham’ makes you sound rather cuddly….”

Raeburn said repressively, “Considering that I’ve been aware of my new status as an uncle for scarcely a week, I’ve hardly had time to give the matter much thought.”

“That’s funny,” Claire said, still teasing. “I’ve thought of nothing else since you sent word that….” Her voice faded as she turned back the edge of the blanket and gazed down at the baby’s tender features, petal-smooth skin startlingly white against the flaming curls that peeked from under the edge of the soft infant cap. “Oh, Jessica,” Claire whispered reverently, “she’s—she’s beautiful.” When she looked up again, her soft eyes shimmered. “Andy would have been so proud,” she said hoarsely.

Jessica felt her throat constrict, and she shivered with a spasm of some curious emotion that might have been guilt. In all her battles with Raeburn, her continuing arguments over what was best for her child’s welfare, not once had she asked herself what Andrew would have wanted for his daughter….

From the doorway behind them, another voice, feminine but querulous, intruded on Jessica’s reunion with her sister-in-law, rapping sharply, “Claire, come here!”

Claire’s shoulders slumped. When Jessica glanced around and saw the woman standing behind her, her plump form framed by the tall menservants on either side of her, her spirits sank. She did not have to meet the glare of those pale eyes squinting balefully to know that at least one member of the household had not altered her opinion of the upstart drawing teacher. “Aunt” Flora Talmadge, a distant cousin of the Foxes and Claire’s chaperon when Raeburn was not at hand, regarded Jessica with open dislike. Her small mouth curled disdainfully as it had in those days when she had spied on Jessica and Andrew’s clandestine meetings in the portrait gallery, giving her pudgy face the pinched, tentative expression of someone about to sneeze. Jessica noted with spiteful triumph that the woman’s upper lip was still spotted from the cucumber lotion with which she bathed it nightly in a futile attempt to bleach out her grizzled ghost of a mustache.

Mrs. Talmadge’s gaze shifted to her charge. “Claire, how many times must I tell you not to go out of doors without your cloak? You’ll catch your death. Come inside at once!” the woman snapped, and Claire flushed hotly.

“Yes, Aunt,” she mumbled, staring down at the ground like a scolded child, but before she could turn toward the door, Raeburn’s large hand closed firmly over her shoulder, “Really, Aunt Talmadge,” he said with quiet force, “I hardly think my sister should be chided for her enthusiasm in greeting a member of the family who has been too long absent from us. At such a happy moment, anyone could be excused for forgetting such a trifle as a cloak, unless she were already unwell. Claire enjoys good health, does she not?”

“Oh, yes, of course, Graham,” the woman persisted unctuously, “as I always say in my letters, I have made Lady Claire’s well-being my primary—”

Raeburn waved her to silence. “I’m sure you’ve been most diligent,” he drawled. Then, glancing at the servants assembled on the steps, some visibly shivering beneath their smart livery, his gray eyes narrowed. “Would that someone took as good care of my staff,” he muttered. “Tell me, Aunt, whose idea was it for everyone to stand on parade in the cold?”

“You sent word that we should make our guest feel welcome,” Mrs. Talmadge said doggedly.

“I said to prepare for my sister-in-law’s return to the family,” Raeburn corrected with scathing emphasis. “That, my dear aunt, is another thing altogether, as you must well know. In such a case, too much ceremony is quite as offensive as too little. I suggest that you exercise a little moderation in future.”

“As you wish, Graham,” she muttered, but the glance that she shot in Jessica’s direction boded ill for the future.

Raeburn turned to the butler and said, “You may dismiss the staff, Barston, with my apologies for the misunderstanding that brought them out of doors on such a day. I suggest that you have the kitchen prepare a hot negus for everyone before they return to their regular duties.

The butler’s face remained carefully impassive, but his eyes reflected his surprise at this unexpected treat. “Very good, my lord. Thank you.”

“Think nothing of it. Later on we’ll have to arrange something festive to celebrate the return of my brother’s wife and child to their home.”

“Very good, my lord,” Barston said again, bowing deeply, and Raeburn turned to usher the women through the door into the house. As Jessica crossed the threshold she overheard this snatch of conversation with astonishment. A celebration? She had never imagined such a thing, especially not one that would encompass the servants as well. Suddenly she wondered if Raeburn had indeed been more aware of the household’s attitude toward her than she had thought, and if this was his way of winning the staff over to her.

Inside, Jessica handed her mist-damped cloak and bonnet to the waiting footman and glanced around her, shivering despite the overheated atmosphere. She had not been inside this house since the day of Andrew’s funeral, and she thought bitterly that the marble floors and looming columns looked as sepulchral now as they had then, the bouquets of flowers fresh from the orangery somehow stiff with invisible crepe. From just behind her, as if reading her thoughts, Raeburn murmured, “It’s been a long year, Jess, full of sorrow, but the house will be happier now with a child in it.”

She looked back over her shoulder and met his gaze squarely. “Will it, Graham?” she asked in a savage undertone. “Or will the gloom instead infect my daughter until she too becomes as silent and cold as a stone cherub?”

He shook his head. “I won’t let that happen, Jess. I promise you that Lottie is going to be happy here. She’ll be coddled and cherished by everyone, and naturally”—he hesitated for a fraction of a second—“once I am married, I hope there will in due time be a regiment of little cousins for her to play with.”

Jessica smiled weakly. “Yes, of course. I was forgetting that—”

Flora Talmadge’s voice cut into their private conversation with, the subtlety of a bludgeon. “Graham, I knew you would be chilled after your long journey, so I’ve ordered a tea in the small parlor. Mrs. Foxe, I am sure, will wish to retire to her room to rest. I’ll have refreshments sent up to her there.”

Claire started to protest, and Raeburn said tightly, “I’m sure my sister and I can delay our meal until Jessica is able to join us in the parlor.”

Jessica was uncertain whether it was a lingering side effect of her illness or merely the expression on Mrs. Talmadge’s face, but suddenly she felt far too exhausted for argument. The emotional shocks of the last few days had drained her more than she cared to admit, and now she longed only for rest and quiet. Touching Raeburn’s sleeve lightly, she said, “Please, Graham, there’s no need to wait for me. I think—I think I’d like to retire for the night, if you don’t mind.”

“So early, Jess?” he asked, frowning.

She nodded. “I am very weary. If someone will direct Willa and me to our—”

“It’s the suite you shared with Andy,” Raeburn said. “I told you nothing would change.” He glanced at Mrs. Talmadge. “You did order those rooms to be put ready for my sister-in-law, did you not?”

“As always, I followed your directions to the letter, Graham,” the woman said deferentially, but her spotty upper lip was as hard as her eyes. “If Mrs. Foxe wishes to go up now, I’ll summon one of the nursery maids to take the child—”

Jessica’s head jerked up. “No!” she said sharply, signaling Willa to come closer. Taking her bundled daughter into her own arms, she announced with quiet force, “Lottie stays with me. She’s never been away from my side.”

Raeburn’s scowl deepened, his gray eyes darkening beneath the thick, fair brows as he watched Jessica dandle the baby against her breast. Calmly he suggested, “You would be able to rest better if you did not have to constantly supervise the child.”

“I am used to supervising her,” Jessica said. “And when I’m resting, Willa can—”

“My dear Graham,” Mrs. Talmadge said, a gloating smile in her voice, “perhaps you should reassure Mrs. Foxe that the staff in the nursery will take excellent care of the infant. Despite the limited time at my disposal, I personally interviewed every one of the maids, as you instructed me.”

Jessica’s green eyes widened. She retreated from Raeburn, clutching Lottie convulsively to her bosom. “Graham, how dare you make plans for my child without consulting me?” she demanded.

“Jess, it’s not the way you think,” he began uncomfortably.

“Not the way I think? How else can it be?” Her voice was growing high and hysterical, much to the fascination of the listening servants. “You promised me nothing would be changed, but already you’ve—”

Mrs. Talmadge interjected, “Graham, perhaps you ought to explain to Mrs. Foxe that no matter what her past…circumstances have been, it is not usual for ladies in her position to—”

Raeburn glanced down at the woman’s gloating face. “Dammit, Flora, shut up!” he growled.

He turned again to Jessica, but she was looking meaningfully at her maid, “We will leave at—” she began in a low, urgent voice, but he waved her to silence.

“You’re going nowhere but to your room, Jess,” he said. “After you’ve rested, you may inspect the nursery at your leisure to ensure that everything and everyone meet your approval. But you do neither Lottie nor yourself any good by arguing with me, especially when you are patently—not yourself.”

Jessica hesitated, an instinctive retort hovering uncertainly on her lips. Then, as she glanced from Raeburn to Mrs. Talmadge and back again, she sighed with resignation. He was right. She could not fight him, not now, not yet. The day of battle would arrive soon enough; at the moment her cause would be better served by marshaling her forces as she waited. “I will do as you wish, Graham,” she said with unaccustomed meekness, and Raeburn frowned at her suspiciously.

Suddenly Claire broke the uneasy silence by suggesting softly, “Jessica, why don’t you let your servant take Lottie up to the nursery? I’m sure you trust her to see that the baby is settled comfortably, and she can report back to you afterward. In the meantime, I’ll show you to your room, if you don’t mind. I’d love the chance for a private little coze with you. We have so much to talk about.”

Jessica smiled gratefully at her young sister-in-law, warmed by her quiet tact. Indeed the girl was growing up quickly in these awkward circumstances, Jessica admitted wryly, Claire seemed to be displaying more maturity than she herself was…. “Thank you, I’d like that,” she said, and when she and Claire mounted the wide staircase, with Willa and the baby close behind, Jessica did not look at Raeburn again.

* * * *

“Does it distress you to use these rooms now that Andy’s gone?” Claire asked frankly a few days later. Her bright hair gleamed in the unexpectedly warm pool of sunlight that pouted in through the high arched windows of Jessica’s sitting room, and she watched fondly as Jessica burped Lottie and cuddled her for a few precious moments before sending her back to the nursery.

Jessica had conceded that the women appointed to care for her daughter could not be faulted in their diligence, and the uninterrupted nights of sleep were reviving her more than she was willing to admit, but she treasured the hours when she alone had charge of her child, and so far she had allowed only Willa and Claire to intrude upon them.

When Jessica looked up, puzzled, Claire waved her slim hand to indicate the interior of the suite and said, “When Graham sent word that you were to have your old room back, I thought at first that it was a good idea—no matter what Aunt Talmadge said—but since then I’ve been worried that you might be unhappy here, that it would make you sad, remembering the time when you lived here with Andy.”

Jessica shook her head and leaned back in the chair. “No, Claire,” she reassured quietly, with a wistful smile, “no, this room does not bother me. I will admit that when I first stepped inside again, there was a moment or two…. But that soon passed. A year is a long time, and so many things have happened since then.” She glanced sharply at Claire. “Do I sound callous, my dear? I don’t mean to. It’s just that sometimes when I remember being married to Andrew, it’s as if—as if it had happened to somebody else.” Her hands tightened gently around her daughter. “Only Lottie reminds me that it was all very real.” She watched Claire anxiously, afraid that the girl would be offended by her casual attitude toward her brother’s death, and in the last few days Claire’s undemanding friendship had become very important to Jessica.

But to Jessica’s surprise, Claire nodded sagely. “I think I know what you mean,” she said. “When I look back and remember the things I said, the way I behaved, I have trouble believing that I could ever have been such a selfish, hateful brat. I was so—so stupidly jealous of you.”